Page 12 of Oathbreaker

“Shit!” Leo curses and tries to regain control of the vehicle.

Fuck this. I pull the gun from beneath the seat as a bullet shatters the back window.

Leo shifts and swerves again, evading the cars following us.

Using the back of my seat as a shield, I pop three rounds into the front of the SUV following us.

A crack forms in their windshield, and the car closest to us veers into its partner.

Crash.

Two cars remain.

“Our guys have your position,” Rio says over the speaker.

“Motherfucker,” Leo shouts. His face is all sharp angles; his eyes rage filled.

This is the Leo who hunts—the Leo who maims and kills. I haven’t seen this side of him since we left Isla Cara years ago.

He’s gonna kill somebody tonight.

And so am I.

Leo cuts another right down a farm-to-market road, and I reach for the dashboard to steady myself against the sharp movement.

The car closest to us tries to make the turn but fails on the slick curve, popping on its driver-side tires before skidding down the opposite lane for several feet on its side. It stops when it careens into a thicket of trees.

The final car makes the turn and accelerates toward us.

We bounce over the ill-maintained road, headlights on bright as we navigate the two-lane path. Out here, we’re too exposed. Nothing but barren trees, farmland, and snowbanks surround us.

“We gotta lose ’em,” I yell. Everything is so fucking loud—the wind whips into the damaged SUV, slicing at my skin. Or maybe that’s broken glass.

“I know,” Leo says, voice hard.

The speedometer goes past ninety just as a concrete barrier materializes a half mile ahead. We draw closer to it in one second.

Two.

Three.

“Hold on!” Leo slams on the brakes. The car behind us stops short, cutting its wheel to the right and toppling over, rolling to a stop as it slides into an icy ditch.

The turn signal on the car flashes as the headlights hang from their housings.

For several moments, the only sound is our breathing. Leo clutches the steering wheel, and I sit there, gun still in my hand.

The sharp, sucking sound of Leo’s inhalation tears through the cabin before he jerks open the driver’s door. He pulls both guns out: one from the side compartment of the driver’s seat, the other from his waistband.

He starts over to the crash.

“Rio. Winter?” I feel wild when my voice cracks, and he breathes in and out over the line.

“Nothing, sir.” He sounds…incredulous. Angry.

Lost.

Air seizes in my chest as I grip the gun in one hand.

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